


Three Men Who (Probably) Never Shagged Hermione Granger

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-05
Updated: 2008-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nope, it definitely never happened. Not at all. Probably. What do you take her for, anyway?</p><p>10,800 words. NC-17. AU in that Cedric is randomly alive. Written for smutty_claus. November 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Men Who (Probably) Never Shagged Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for myownmuggle at smutty_claus, who listed these three pairings, thus sparking bad things in my pervy brain and making it utterly impossible for me to choose between them. ;) Many thanks to florahart for the beta work.

"How much, mate?"

"For Weasleys? Drinks are free tonight."

Charlie glanced up, his hand stilling in his pocket. "No shit."

"Nah." Flashing him a smile, the bartender grabbed his towel and began to move it in lazy circles over the spotless surface of the bar. "They're free for everyone. Just wanted to see if you really are a Weasley."

Charlie took a swig from his fresh beer, leaning his hip into the bar. "I am," he confirmed, watching the path of the towel before glancing up at the bartender again. "You got a thing for Weasleys, then?"

The man laughed, slinging the towel over his shoulder and planting his palms on the bar. He leaned forward. "Not quite. Just trying to know the enemy, yeah?" He narrowed his eyes. "You lot are the lousiest tippers in this whole place."

"Oh." Charlie squinted. "Even Bill?" When the bartender raised an eyebrow, Charlie turned and pointed across the crowded room. "Ponytail. Earring. Blonde on his arm that you'd think he'd paid for, if you didn't know any better."

The bartender laughed again but nodded. "Even Bill."

"Bloody embarrassment," grumbled Charlie, rooting in his pockets again for the change. He dropped a few coins on the bar and glanced up. The bartender folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head to the side, watching him.

"That one?" He pointed to the other side of the room. "Not only didn't tip, but I swear he put a bottle of my best Armadale down his robes, yeah?"

Charlie followed his gaze and saw George, his good ear pink and his hair more than a little ruffled, trying to drag Ginny out to the floor to dance with him.

"Pretty impressive, actually," the bartender continued. "I've got all these bottles charmed to stay put unless I touch 'em." He gestured at the assortment of alcohol behind him, shaking his head.

Charlie plunked another two coins down.

"And _that_ one–"

"Okay, yeah, I get it," interrupted Charlie, rubbing at his eyes. "My brothers are dickheads."

"_That_ one," he repeated, holding his index finger out until Charlie relented and followed his gaze, "is one of the more impressive birds I've ever seen. And I've done rather a lot of these gigs." He whistled low and went back to wiping the bar.

Charlie slumped against the side of the bar and drank deeply, his eyes following Hermione sodding Granger as she hurried across the far end of the room, pausing for a moment with flushed cheeks and wild hair to let Harry whisper something in her ear. "Bollocks," he muttered under his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Aye, they're bollocks," a voice beside him piped up as a body joined him in sagging against the bar. "Right handful, too, they are." Charlie glanced down against his better judgement to see his new companion drop his hand and cup his crotch, tugging up. "But you already knew that, eh, Weasley? Damn, I miss those moments we used to have together in the Quidditch showers." The voice dropped to a wistful sing-song before Charlie punched the newcomer hard on the shoulder.

"Fuck off," he muttered, grinning despite himself. "The fuck are you doing here, Wood?"

Oliver laughed, rubbing his shoulder before landing a solid elbow in Charlie's rib cage. "I was fucking invited, you dumb fuck. The fuck are _you_ doing here?"

"Yeah, I wonder." Charlie tipped his beer up to his lips again. "Watch your fucking language," he added, grinning sideways at Oliver. "My bloody mum's already come up behind me more than once tonight and boxed my ears for it."

"Ah, still afraid of your mum, then?"

"She's fucking terrifying." Charlie shuddered. "You haven't talked to her yet?"

Oliver shook his head, sipping his Firewhisky.

"Well, watch out. And you'd better have an answer ready for why you ain't married yet."

Oliver threw his head back and laughed, pushing one elbow back to hang over the edge of the bar. "They've got a saying where I'm from."

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Yeah, yeah." Charlie rolled his eyes. "That's not just where you're from, you idiot. Every single bloke in the world says that."

"Well, it's true, so shut it."

"Well, I'll pay you fifty bloody Galleons if you say that to my mum." Charlie laughed, elbowing Oliver again. He followed Oliver's eyes to where they had located Charlie's mother in the crowd and felt Oliver's body crunch forward a bit as he winced.

"Yeah, no. I did just say I like my bollocks where they are, okay?"

"Fuck," muttered Charlie, drawing out the word and laughing.

"And anyway, I got time. Not like some blokes." He threw Charlie a sly smile. "You hit forty yet, Weasley, or is that next year?"

"Oh, fuck no. You watch your fucking mouth, or I'll tell that bird you were just chatting up that you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, a starting Keeper for fucking Puddlemere, but rather stuck on the reserves forever for blowing the coach, and _then_ we'll see who's got the–"

"Oh, you fucking wouldn't." Oliver plunked his glass down on the bar and tackled Charlie in an ill-conceived manoeuvre that only resulted in a bit of spilled beer and a brief yanking of Charlie's robes tight around his throat.

Charlie grabbed Oliver's arm and wrenched it behind his back, bending him over the bar and earning himself a swift kick in the shins for his trouble. They tussled and tugged at robes and swore until they both sagged against the bar, laughing and calling to the bartender for more drinks.

Oliver straightened out his robes and picked up his whisky glass, draining it. He gazed out at the dance floor. "I _will_ be starting Keeper soon, you know," he muttered. "Not planning on staying on the reserve team for fucking ever. It's just, a bloke's got to do his time, yeah?" He ran the tip of his finger around the edge of the glass, absorbing the condensation from the ice.

"Yeah." Charlie leaned sideways and knocked him gently on the shoulder. "I know, mate." He was quiet for a moment before glancing sideways. "I didn't even make reserves, you know that?"

Oliver nodded, still fiddling with his glass.

"So, shut the fuck up with your sob story."

A grin broke out over Oliver's face as he turned his head to Charlie again. "You're pathetic, Weasley." He gazed back out at the dance floor, and this time, Charlie followed his gaze a little more closely. He waited several seconds, just to be sure, before he spoke.

"No," he said slowly, tilting his head to the side, "_that's_ pathetic." He glanced back at Oliver just as Oliver hurriedly shifted his gaze elsewhere, avoiding Charlie's eyes.

"What?" mumbled Oliver, his face colouring.

Before Charlie could answer, the object of Oliver's gaze herself danced towards them, her eyes bright and her hair still frazzled, sticking out in all directions in a way that made Charlie just want to grab handfuls of it and bury his face in it.

"The two most eligible bachelors here, and you're wrestling with each other over at the bar?" she scolded them, laughing. "Come! Dance!"

Oliver smiled sadly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "No point, Hermione," he said, shaking his head. "The love of my life is already taken." He turned up the wattage on his smile, Charlie noted, transforming it from that of a heartbroken puppy to something more becoming a flirtatious Quidditch player. Hermione giggled.

"Flattery, Mr Wood, will not get you nearly as far with me as you might think." She laughed again, but her eyes dropped to the floor and her face flushed. She twisted her hands together.

Charlie stepped forward to ease the awkward moment, taking Hermione's arm and leaning in to kiss the cheek Oliver hadn't. "You look beautiful," he said softly, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. "Go dance." He nudged her away. "My bloke here says the drinks are free," he added, nodding back towards the bartender before taking another swig from his beer. "So Wood and I have got some serious work to do if we want to get shit-faced before midnight."

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you could both come," she said with a warm smile before waving at them and moving off, quickly finding another dance partner. Charlie and Oliver watched her go. Charlie waited a moment before turning to Oliver.

"Pathetic," he repeated, raising an eyebrow when Oliver finally met his eyes, sighing.

"Yeah, I know," he admitted mournfully, sagging further against the bar.

Charlie laughed, running a hand through his hair. "No, I mean, that is _really_ bloody pathetic. 'Love of my life'? Are you fucking serious, Wood? Considering I do have a vested interest in protecting the _real_ love of her life – if the events of today are any indication of that, and I like to think that they are – from dickheads like you saying shit like that to her, then yeah. I really should rip those bollocks of yours off right now. You know, the ones you're so bloody proud of."

"Oh, fuck off," muttered Oliver, scrubbing at his face. "I'm not a fucking stalker or nothing. Christ. But, just–" He sighed, gesturing vaguely towards Hermione. "Are you telling me you've never even _thought_ about it?"

"Thought about what? Glass of red wine, please."

Charlie turned around to see Cedric Diggory signalling to the bartender before glancing at him and Oliver.

"Weasley," he said with a nod. "Wood."

A smile tugged at Oliver's lips. "Diggory," he said, mimicking Cedric's posh accent before inclining his head and extending his hand. "Always a pleasure. Say, how have the hounds been keeping? I do hope the Cardinal won't stop this year's fox hunt."

"Fuck off," grumbled Cedric, knocking Oliver's hand away. Charlie laughed, clapping Cedric on the shoulder.

"You two know each other, then?" joked Charlie, moving between them and slinging an arm around each of their necks. "Wood, this is Diggory," he said with a formal nod towards each of them. "Diggory, this is Wood. Diggory played naked Quidditch in our backyard with at least four of my brothers until the age of seven, and can still be seen flying over Ottery St Catchpole in the all-together on clear nights. Wood only wishes United would practice in the nude, as that at least might give him a chance of making the starting line-up. He enjoys long walks on the beach, injects dragon's blood to keep a hard-on, and dreams of one day shagging Hermione Granger so rotten that every night thereafter when she wakes up alone, she'll be screaming his name in orgasm." He clapped them both on the back.

Cedric, who had been trying to take a sip of his wine, wound up in a spluttering coughing fit, hitting himself on the chest. When he recovered, he turned to Oliver with wide eyes. "Do you really?" he asked with a laugh.

"The dragon's blood? Oh, aye." Oliver rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I even bother talking to this one?" He punched Charlie on the arm just a bit too hard. "He hooks me up."

"Okay, your hard-ons are not something I need to know about. But Hermione?" Cedric tilted his head to the side, watching Oliver carefully, while Charlie watched Cedric.

"What's it to you, Diggory?" Charlie asked, nudging Cedric with his elbow. "Don't tell me you've had that dream, too." He laughed, but Cedric just shook his head, exhaling a slow breath through his mouth.

"God, yes," he said softly, his eyes losing focus. His fingers slipped up and down the stem of his wineglass as both Charlie and Oliver stared at him. "Don't tell me you _haven't_," he added, glancing at Charlie.

Charlie's mouth fell open a little bit and his eyes darted between the other two. "I– well." He coughed. "That's a bit private, I think."

"O-ho!" boomed Oliver, slapping his palm down on the bar. "Giving _me_ a hard time, and look at this! Yeah, I just bet Ron'd be real pleased to hear this one, eh? Jesus fucking Christ, Weasley. Defending her _honour_. Fucking Christ." He shoved Charlie lightly in the chest, smirking. "Right, then." He glanced between Charlie and Cedric. "Who's going first?"

Charlie caught on before Cedric. "Nope," he said simply, shaking his head. "I've already said more than enough to get me thrown out of my own family forever. Fuck, no. Not saying another word."

"Another word about what? Wait." Cedric furrowed his brow.

"Come on, Diggory," said Oliver, grinning. "You tell me your fantasy, and I'll tell you mine."

Charlie shook his head, the beer already beginning to cloud it a bit. "Absolutely not. I will not listen to this. You are both utter perverts, and also, she is _right there_." He turned and gestured towards Hermione, where she was busy laughing and licking cake crumbs off her fingers. He groaned and closed his eyes, but the image of her lips closing around her finger was burned into his brain.

"She's right there, and she's clearly not paying us any mind tonight, so who cares? What do you say, Diggory? I could use something new to wank to. Help a bloke out."

Cedric made a face. "That was way more information than I needed, Wood."

"No it wasn't, because now you're thinking about it, aren't you? You know you want to hear what I think about. Let's grab that table." Oliver turned to the bartender and ordered them two new rounds, pulling his wand out to Levitate the drinks to a free table near the bar. He fell into a chair and grabbed his whisky in one big fist before leaning back and smirking at Charlie and Cedric. "Come _on_," he said petulantly.

Charlie sighed, dropping into a chair and taking a long pull of his beer. He glanced at Cedric and then back at Oliver, who was looking a bit too eager to share. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head. "Fine," he said to Oliver, who broke out in a huge grin. "You go first."

***

"Ginny! Are you still in there?"

The voice floated in the doorway of the locker room, and Oliver sighed. He finished unlacing his shin guards and threw them to the floor. Couldn't a bloke have a second's bloody peace in this place to wallow in his own pity?

"Gin? Just, Harry was going to take us for lunch, but he's had to run off somewhere. He told me to tell you he'd–"

"She ain't bloody here," Oliver called back irritably, pulling his shirt off and wincing at the smell. "Bugger off."

The voice was silent for a moment but then turned into a head peeking around the corner. "Oh, I'm sorry. Have you seen– oh, Oliver? Is that you?"

He kicked his uniform trousers off before he looked up. "Yeah. Oh. Hermione. Uh." He swallowed. "All right?"

"I'm sorry to bother you; I know I shouldn't be in here, but I just–"

"Looking for Gin, yeah." He waved a hand at her as she dropped her eyes, and he found himself oddly amused that _she_ was embarrassed when he was the one standing there in nothing but his arm guards and pants. They could have been worse, he figured – they did go halfway down his thigh, after all, but yeah, they were snug. Ah, fuck it. He planted his hands on his hips. "What, you ain't seen this year's reserve Keeper calendar?" He swaggered towards her.

"I– well, yes, in fact, I did see this year's– oh." Her eyes, which had drifted down over his chest and lower body, snapped up again as her expression softened. "There's no reserve Keeper calendar, Oliver," she said gently. "Just the regular Quidditch one."

"Aye," he sighed, nodding. "Regular Quidditch, alas, is not something anyone wants me to play. 'Go get suited up, Wood,'" he mocked. "'We'll call ye if we need ye.' Fucking first year out of Hogwarts, and even Ginny's playing first line." He picked his gloves up off the bench and hurtled them at the floor.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm sorry," said Hermione, moving into the locker room. "I shouldn't–" She glanced back over her shoulder at the sliver of sunlight peeking through the door. "Do you want to be alone?"

He bit down on his reflexive _yes_ and thought about it for a moment. Then he glanced at her, taking in the blouse and skirt visible under her open robes, the way her breasts strained against the white silk of the blouse, the way the warm smile on her face was more encouraging than any he'd received from another person in ages. "No, it's all right," he mumbled before remembering that he was nearly naked. "Sorry." He gestured in front of his body. "Was just getting in the shower."

She nodded, sitting down on the bench. "I can wait, if you want to talk after," she offered. "I know a bit about what it's like to– well, I mean, not exactly like this, obviously." She smiled at him. "But when you want to be good at something, _want_ to be the best, and there's something else holding you back." She gazed wistfully off over Oliver's shoulder. "Somebody who maybe doesn't want you to be more successful than they are."

He sat down on the bench across from her, their knees nearly brushing. "You got somebody like that?" he asked quietly. "I don't believe it. There ain't nothing you can't do, Hermione."

"I know that," she said firmly, "which is why, no, I don't have anybody like that. Not anymore." She took a deep breath as if convincing herself of it, holding a hand out to Oliver. "I remember watching you play at Hogwarts," she said with a shy smile. "Even when I was supposed to be watching Harry or– whoever else. I'd watch you."

"Yeah?" He took her hand, squeezing it for comfort and suddenly feeling much better about sitting on the bench for another entire sodding game. "Liked what you saw, did you?" He flashed her a smile, and she giggled.

"Oliver!" she said with a laugh. "Who didn't? You were always brilliant, and you know it." Still grinning, she glanced around the locker room. "Wait a second – is this your ruse to get girls into the locker room with you while you're naked? Oh, you _poor_ thing," she teased. "You know, a lot of players would kill just for the chance to be on the reserve team."

He froze. "Yeah, thanks. Only I've told myself that about a million times by now, yeah?" He yanked his hand away and stood up. "Nice to see you, Hermione. If you're looking for Ginny, she's probably out back shagging Wilkes or Collins." He stormed towards the showers, pausing to pound his fist into the wall along the way.

"Oh, no, that's not what I– _Oliver_!"

He ignored her, flinging the tap open and his pants down before stepping under the hot spray. Stupid fucking team and its stupid fucking coach. _Not yet, Wood_, he'd say after every practice. _Still not stopping as many as you should. You're young_. A manly clap on the back at that. _Give it another year_.

Yeah, because he hadn't already given it nearly nine fucking years of his life. He scrubbed at his face and hair, letting the warm water wash over him. He was just in the process of unbuckling the arm guards when he heard the clacking of shoes on the wet tiles. He stilled.

"Oliver," a quiet voice called, and Oliver saw three fingers curl around the edge of his stall. Before he could respond, one side of Hermione's face appeared. "I'm sorry," she murmured, but her gaze had already dropped from his face down his body.

"Bit inappropriate, then, isn't it?" Oliver snorted, continuing to soap up his stomach and chest.

He stopped his movements when she moved fully into the entrance of the stall, dropping her robe from her shoulders and unfastening her skirt. She kicked her shoes off and shimmied out of her skirt before starting on her blouse.

"Wait," he stammered, his mouth falling open and his dick beginning to swell. "Are you–"

She stepped forward, cupping his face with both hands even as the water began to trickle up her sleeves. She tilted her head up and kissed him, soft and gentle, and he had to raise one hand against the tiled wall to hold himself up. "You're a brilliant player," she murmured against his lips. "Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you're not good enough to do the things you want to do in your life. Not ever." She pressed her lips to his again, parting them and sliding her tongue against his, and Oliver couldn't help but moan into her mouth.

When they broke apart, chests heaving, he gazed at her for a long moment, his wet fingers tracing the side of her face. Seeking assent in her eyes, he waited until she reached for his hand and moved it down, guiding it into her open blouse and over her breast. He watched her eyes flutter closed as he flicked his finger over her nipple, and then with a groan, he pushed her up against the wall of the shower stall and devoured her mouth, kissing her fiercely. He let all the emotions of the day, from rage to disappointment to pity rampage through him, channelling it all into passion and arousal. He was aching for her, fumbling with her remaining clothing and nearly ripping her knickers off.

"Leave it," she breathed against his cheek as he tried to unfasten her blouse. The water planed off his back, but she still caught some of the spray. The white blouse clung to her skin as it grew damp, her breasts heaving just beneath the buttons where they had come unfastened halfway.

"So, don't let anyone keep you from doing what you want to do, is that it?" He hoisted her up, flexing his biceps to hold her in place against the wall.

She clung to his shoulders, gasping.

"And you want this?"

In reply, she hooked one leg around his waist, the other tottering on the wet tiled floor. "Haven't had much chance to get what I want lately," she murmured, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders.

"Jesus." With a groan, he thrust up inside her. He lost himself in the steam and the rhythm, her body tight around him. She gasped softly in his ear and murmured his name over and over again, pulling her thighs tight around him and scratching his back with her fingernails. He dropped his mouth to her collarbone and licked the drops of water away, relishing the swell of her breast against his chin and the scrape of his arm guards against her blouse. With a final push, he bent his knees and shook as he came, clutching her to his dripping body as the water began to cool.

*

Charlie let out a low whistle. "Not bad, Wood." He glanced over at Cedric, who was looking a bit pale.

"So," began Cedric, clearing his throat. "Her blouse is still on?"

Oliver lifted his glass in salute and winked. "Fuck yeah. White one too. All wet."

"And, just–" Cedric swallowed – "against the wall like that? She– I mean– but would she really–"

"Would she really what?" Oliver glared. "Course she fucking would. She ain't as virgin pure as you might think, I'll bet. Bet she knows her way around a–"

"Okay, no, stop right there." Charlie held a hand up. "I _will_ rip your balls off if you say one fucking word to disrespect that woman."

"I think we've already crossed that line, Weasley," said Cedric, giving him a wry smile, but Charlie only glared at him. He had a point, of course, but Charlie couldn't quell the urge to defend her.

"Talking about fucking her is one thing," he grumbled. "Calling her a slut's something else." He sat up straight and leaned forward, shifting his gaze to Oliver. "We clear?"

Oliver swept his tongue over his lower lip, watching Charlie carefully for a long moment before snorting and lounging back in his chair. "Yeah. We're clear."

"Good." Charlie glanced over at Cedric against his better judgement. "Your turn, then, Diggory."

***

The room was covered in shadow, with only a sliver of moonlight causing a faint glow high on the walls. Cedric paused to wipe the moisture from his brow, his fingers sticky with sweat and his chest heaving against the warm body gasping in his lap.

"Cedric," she whispered, clinging to him and tilting her hips. "Oh, _oh_." She rose and fell rhythmically, straddling him and pushing her half-bared breasts against his chest while her body took in his every upward thrust.

His head fell back against the wall behind him and his arse began to chafe on the thick carpet where his trousers had been hastily shoved down, but Hermione Granger was riding him like her life depended on it, her body tight around his cock and her lips warm against his face, and he couldn't find the energy to complain.

"You're alive," she murmured, her voice soft in his ear as her fingers moved up his chest. "You're here, so now you have to _live_. Oh, God."

He sped up his rhythm at her words, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to just absorb the feel of her, let it wash over him and blunt all those other feelings that had assaulted him during the anniversary celebrations earlier in the evening: he shouldn't have lived when so many others died; he shouldn't have been spared when he had yet to do anything meaningful with the second chance at life he'd been given; he shouldn't have –

*

"Oh, what the fuck, Diggory? You can't start in the middle. Weasley, tell him to start at the fucking beginning like a normal person."

Charlie took another drink. "Wood wants you to start at the beginning, Diggory," he said in a bored voice.

Cedric rolled his eyes. "No, because his story was bloody boring. Mine's going to be better." He made a chopping motion on the table. "Cut right to the good stuff; none of this whinging about the bloody Quidditch."

"I wasn't _whinging_," said Oliver with a pout. "I was just setting the scene, like." He drained his whisky and slumped over the table, his head resting in one fist. "You're an arse," he added as an afterthought.

Charlie whacked him on the side of the head. "Shut the fuck up." He turned to Cedric, settling back in his chair. "Now. Keep talking."

*

It had only been a year since Voldemort's final defeat, and three years since Cedric had looked that monster in the eye and still somehow lived to tell the tale. Only Harry's quick thinking had got either of them out alive; Cedric himself had been paralysed, unable to draw his wand or even _think_ about what to do. He had spent the entire anniversary party in the corner, huddled against the wall nursing a drink – or four – and doing everything he could to avoid the hordes who wanted to ask him what it had been like, how he'd ever made it out.

He had watched her move among the revellers, nodding politely and hugging those who seemed to need it, but she never went more than a few minutes without glancing back in his direction. It was close to midnight before she finally approached him, wavering a bit on her feet and clutching her wineglass as if to steady herself. He drained his own drink as she moved towards him, wondering why he hadn't made an escape hours ago.

"All right?" she asked quietly, touching his arm, and those simple words had nearly undone him. No one had actually asked him that all night, not when more exciting questions about danger and battle and escape were foremost on their tongues. "Oh, Cedric." She wrapped her arms around him even before he crumpled, holding him up and stroking his hair off his forehead.

He breathed her in, burying his face in her hair and sliding his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against him and feeling her warmth spread through him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, but she immediately shook her head.

"If you're anything like me," she said with a faint smile, "you're a melancholy drunk, that's all. This will pass."

He had tried to nod into her hair, one hand moving up the back of her neck and tracing over the soft skin there, but she was right, he _was_ a melancholy drunk, dammit, and right now he wasn't sure it _would_ be okay, not when he should have been dead, not when so many others had died instead of him. His breathing must have sped up and his body started to shake, because she smoothed her hand over his cheek and murmured to him.

"It's not your fault," she whispered. "Shh. Come on."

And that was all it took. She grasped his hand and led him quietly through the shadows of the room, away from the increasingly drunk and unobservant revellers and down a hallway to a darkened bedroom. His mind clouded by alcohol and the crushing emotion of the evening, he let her draw him down into a deep kiss, her lips moving slowly over his as her hands framed his face.

"You lived," she said firmly, drawing back to look into his eyes, and then the rest was a blur. He slid down the wall, bringing her with him until they were a tangle of limbs on the floor, kissing and touching and searching for comfort in each other. She unfastened his trousers and drew his cock out, stroking him gently as she continued to kiss his neck and jaw. He grasped her hips when she moved to straddle him, pushing her knickers aside with her skirt still on, and then his body surged with heat as she sank down on top of him, squeezing her thighs around his hips and clutching at his shoulders.

His body thrummed with sensation, the darkness of the room colluding with the nightmares of the war in his mind to press down on him, wrapping around him until the only warmth he could feel was her skin and her soothing breath against his cheek. He held her close and thrust up into her, his rhythm gentle and soothing. She continued to whisper in his ear, telling him it was okay, that he was alive, that she wanted him so badly, just like this.

"_God_," she breathed against his cheek again, rotating her hips in his lap and clinging to him. "Don't stop."

And then she was kissing him again as his body spiralled out of control, her lips and tongue wet and warm on his even as his fingers slid up her back and pressed in hard. He shuddered against her and spilled, his orgasm wrenched from his body in long, pulsing waves that made the room spin and his fingertips tingle. He wanted to cling to her like this forever, this brilliant creature that had sought him out and seemed to know exactly what he needed, who didn't judge him or question him. She let him feel, let him lose himself in her, and that was something he would never forget.

*

"Okay, let me get this straight. _Neither_ of you tits think you should bother to make her come?" Charlie sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Oh, that's nice."

"No, let _me_ get this straight," added Oliver, turning wide eyes on Cedric. "You think fucking her is going to solve your existential crisis? Jesus, Diggory, that's a lot to put on a woman."

Cedric flushed. "You _asked_," he said with a slight pout.

Charlie laughed. "That you did. A man's got a right to his own fantasy," he said pointedly to Oliver, who rolled his eyes. "Hey," he added to Cedric, smiling and knocking him gently on the shoulder. "You all right?"

"What? Oh." Cedric rubbed at his forehead, taking a deep breath before pushing his hand back through his hair. He nodded firmly. "Yeah. It's fine."

"For what it's worth," added Charlie quietly, while Oliver got up to get them a new round of drinks, "and this is from a person who did lose someone close in that war..." He paused before taking Cedric's arm and squeezing it. "I'm glad you made it."

Cedric stared at him for a loaded moment but then released a heavy breath, closing his eyes and nodding. "Thanks, mate," he said quietly.

***

"Enjoying yourselves, boys?"

Oliver, Cedric and Charlie all abandoned their sixth – eighth? – round of drinks and turned lazily in their chairs, blinking up at the newcomer. She swept her gaze over the table, littered with empty bottles and glasses, and featuring several nasty maroon stains on the linen tablecloth, before turning stern eyes on the three slumping men.

"Brilliant wedding, Hermione," Cedric said, giving her a slow smile.

"Aye," Oliver agreed, confirming it with a nod that nearly resulted in his head lolling backwards. He jumped a little bit, clearing his throat and sliding his fingers into either side of his lapel to straighten himself out. "And you are bloody gorgeous," he added, winking at her as his gaze wandered up and down her robe.

"Look at you in that pure white robe and those sexy high heels," drawled Charlie, leaning back in his chair and draping an arm over the empty seat next to him. He openly leered at her, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip. "You playing the virgin or the whore tonight, love?"

"Charlie!" Hermione gasped, breaking into nervous laughter, while Cedric frowned and Oliver's eyes widened.

"What?" Charlie looked innocently between the three of them. "It's not official till Ron carries her over the threshold of the honeymoon suite, is it?" His gaze swept over her, hiding nothing. "If we head up there now, gorgeous, I promise I'll have you back in that dress by midnight, no one the wiser."

Cedric made a small noise in the back of his throat, his face draining of colour, while Oliver leaned over and landed a solid punch on Charlie's left bicep.

"The _fuck_, Weasley?" howled Oliver. "This is a beautiful fucking woman, and you're going to talk to her like that? What did you just tell us an hour ago, you and your high horse. Jesus fucking Christ." His arms flailed and he nearly knocked over another drink. "Hermione, don't listen to him," he added, turning to her and grasping her hand. "He's a total Neanderthal. He can't read. He eats with his hands. He–"

"It's okay, Oliver," said Hermione with a laugh, leaning down and cupping his face as though he were a small child throwing a fit. "I can handle Charlie." She glanced sideways at that, narrowing her eyes at Charlie, before straightening up again and smoothing down her robe. "Ron and I are leaving soon, though, so I wanted to say goodbye," she added, her face flushed. "I'm so glad you all could come. I hope you had a good time?"

As if to ward off more vulgar innuendo from either Charlie or Oliver, Cedric leaned forward, trying his best not to appear drunk. "We did," he told her solemnly. "We had a brilliant time, and you are brilliant, and Ron is–"

"– never, ever going to forget how lucky he is, if I have anything to say about it," grumbled Oliver.

"–_brilliant_," continued Cedric, talking over Oliver, "and so, off you go." He shooed her away with a hand gesture before picking up his glass again and taking a less-than-suave gulp of wine. "Charlie was about to tell us a story," he added conspiratorially, as Charlie kicked him under the table. Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"All right, boys," she said, patting them each on the shoulder. "Shall I tell the bartender you've had enough?"

"No!"

"What?"

"Christ. Don't you dare."

She laughed again before waving and hurrying off to say her farewells to the next table.

***

"All right. It was a couple of years ago," began Charlie, clearing his throat and leaning forward with one arm draped over the edge of the table. "I mean, it would have been, the way the, uh, the dream is set. Couple of years ago, because that's when she and Ron split up for a bit, yeah? I'm not that big an arse, you know. I'm not going to shag my own brother's bird."

"Oh, yeah, they were split up." Oliver rolled his eyes. "How long was that – like, two weeks? Real moral compass, this one."

"Eight months," said Charlie through gritted teeth, "so shut the fuck up. Do you want to fucking hear this or not?"

"I do," Cedric piped up, "so shut it, Wood." He turned to Charlie. "All right. Couple of years ago, she would have been single, no problem there with guilt or any of that. Excellent." He took a sip of wine. "I do like to think of her as right and proper about things like that."

Oliver gave him a pointed look. "We're talking about different ways to shag her stupid, and you're worried about what's right and proper?"

"Well," said Cedric, annoyed, "there's no point fantasising about a bird who'll shag anything that moves, right? I mean, that's what I like about _her_ specifically. She's– you know." He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Got personality. And principles. And–" His gaze fell to the table and he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts again. "She _wouldn't_ shag just anyone, right? I like that." He was quiet for another long second as Charlie and Oliver exchanged amused glances. "Which is why I know _you_ lads haven't a shot in hell," he added, raising his head again and giving Charlie and Oliver a piercing glare.

Charlie turned his chair towards Oliver, his back to Cedric. "Right, then. _You_ can hear this, Wood. It was a couple of years ago. _Would _have been, I mean. Yeah. And–"

"Can't– hear– you." Cedric hit him in the back of the head and tugged at his chair until Charlie was facing the table again. "Bloody Gryffindors."

*

"I just need the livers, Charlie," said Hermione, her voice at once stern and nervous. "Don't even think about trying anything else."

Charlie paused in his step, turning to her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "You know exactly what it means." She averted her eyes. "Your reputation precedes you."

"My reputation as an expert handler of dragon livers?" He snorted. Grabbing his shirt by the hem, he pulled it over his head and balled it into his fist, running a hand through his hair. "No idea what you're talking about, but I need a shower." He unlocked his cabin and walked in ahead of her, holding the door for her to follow. Throwing the dirty shirt into a corner, he gestured around the sparsely furnished room. "Make yourself at home," he called over his shoulder. "I've got some books and stuff." He paused, glancing back at her to savour the way her eyebrows shot up. "Yes, I can read. Rather well, even."

"I– no, I know that. Of course you can." She frowned at him. "You can stop assuming things about me now, you know, if you want me to stop assuming things about you."

He grinned, turning and walking back over to her so that he could stand in front of her. He silently dared her to hold his gaze and not let hers wander down his bare chest. "What am I assuming about you, love?"

"Well, for one, you are assuming that _I_ think you can't read, and for another, you– you–" To her credit, she made it four seconds. Charlie counted. On the fifth, her gaze dropped from his face down to his stubbled jaw and throat, his broad shoulders, his muscled chest with the scar tissue running across the left side, his flat stomach and, if he was reading her right, her eyes paused for a fraction of a second at the trail of hair that thickened low on his stomach and was lost down in his jeans.

He stepped towards her. "I what?" he said softly, careful not to touch her. Not yet. Not until she asked. Not until she begged.

"You–" Her eyes flew back to his face, widened with annoyance. Her cheeks were pink. "You are _assuming_," she continued, her voice steadier now, "that you can lure me into your bed with that– that–" She gestured at his bare torso – "_charm_ you're famous for. But you can't," she added, her mouth tight.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "So that's my reputation, is it? Just who have you been talking to, anyway?"

Hermione swallowed, folding her arms over her chest in a pose Charlie had already learned was her favoured defence mechanism. "It doesn't matter who," she replied. "Everyone who heard I was coming here warned me about you." She paused to laugh, throwing her hands in the air. "It's ridiculous! Even my _boss_, this mad little old lady who likely hasn't left Accounts and Records since 1943, took me aside and said, 'Now, Miss Granger, you be careful at that dragon reserve.'" She put on a mock elderly voice and wagged her finger. "'Those men will only want one thing from a young lady like you.'" She shot Charlie an accusing glare.

He shrugged. "'Those men,'" he asked, "or me specifically?"

Hermione opened her mouth but quickly closed it again.

"Right," said Charlie with a short laugh. "Fear of the unknown. Protect the maidens of England from the big, bad dragon men down in Romania." He took another slow step towards her, hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans. "Only a couple of things wrong there, yeah?" He scratched at his jaw as Hermione folded her arms again, waiting. "First, this place is about sixty per cent women. You must have noticed that on the way in. Dragons respond well to women, and–"

Hermione opened her mouth.

"–no, that's not because they're inherently nurturing or motherly or shit like that, so don't get your knickers in a twist."

She pressed her lips together again, still glaring.

"It's more to do with the timbre of their voices, which, no, are not always higher than men's, but usually they are, so, there's that. I'm not even allowed to say a word around the Ridgebacks, for instance. I do harnesses, I do egg collection, and I dice livers when there's a death. On my team, Annie and Celeste do the talking."

Hermione sighed. "Fine, whatever. That just means there are even more women around for you to–"

"_Second_," Charlie interrupted, "as with any workplace, shagging your co-workers is about the worst idea ever, and it's basically suicide here, because you've also got to live with these people and socialise after work, and we're far from home, and yeah, it's happened a few times – I won't lie to you – but it's never been a good idea. I found that out the hard way."

Hermione's fingers tightened against her arm. Charlie noticed that her eyes had dropped down his chest again. "And third?" she muttered.

He took one more step towards her, closing the remaining distance between them until he could feel her breath against his collarbone. She stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. He moved his hand up to her face and tipped her chin up with one finger, gently encouraging her to look at him. "Third," he murmured, "is that I don't want to be with anyone who doesn't want to be with me."

She closed her eyes briefly before blinking up at him, and Charlie found himself mesmerised by the brush of her eyelashes against her flushed cheeks.

"So, even if I did only want one thing from you, if that's the charming phrase, that doesn't mean I get to have it." He paused, finally releasing the finger nudging her chin up and dragging it lightly down her throat. When he reached the base of her throat, he hesitated, moaning softly in open regret before lifting it away and returning it to his back pocket. He turned and sauntered back towards the bathroom. "Not unless _you_ only want one thing from me, too," he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

He took several deep breaths before turning the shower on. He kicked his boots, jeans and pants off and tried to ignore the erection that little stunt had given him. Stepping under the spray, he scrubbed at his face and wet hair and wondered what she thought of predatory dragon men now that she was left alone in a cabin with one. That whole speech had probably been a spectacularly bad idea, even though every word of it was true. She didn't need to know that he had barely been able to bring himself to Firecall Ron with his condolences when Bill had first told him that Hermione had broken things off. She didn't need to know that dragon livers weren't really that delicate and could easily have been Owled to the Ministry Apothecary, but that by calling in one enormous favour with a file clerk there, Charlie had ensured that Hermione would have to come pick them up herself.

She didn't need to know, he concluded with a quiet groan, that he thought about her in this shower every bloody day, dropping his hand to his cock and squeezing it under the spray as he imagined spreading her out on his bed and sliding inside of her.

He thought he was imagining things when he heard the bathroom door click open and felt a rush of cool air over his wet body. He stood perfectly still, the water washing over his chest as he cocked his head to the side and listened.

"Only one thing," Hermione's quiet voice floated over the shower curtain, "and only one night."

He pulled the curtain back just enough to make his head and shoulders visible to her, wetting his lips and watching as she pulled her jumper over her head, standing before him in the steamy bathroom in her skirt and lacy bra.

"And if you breathe a word of it to any of your brothers, or _anyone_ else..." she warned, giving him a stern look that only went straight to his groin.

*

"Oi! The shower bit was mine! You can't steal my fucking fantasy."

"Oh my God, Wood, shut the fuck up." Cedric's hands flew to his forehead, plastering his hair back as he turned a murderous gaze on Oliver. "Are you– did you _seriously_ just interrupt this? Because–"

"Now, boys," said Charlie, grinning and leaning back in his chair. "Let's all behave like adults here. Wood, you want the shower-shag monopoly?"

Oliver glared at him.

"And Diggory, you like the shower business?"

"Well, I don't want to be the only one who didn't think of it," grumbled Cedric, slouching in his chair.

Charlie grabbed his beer and took another drink. "Well, it's your lucky day, Wood," he said when he set the bottle down again. "This story only starts there, but then things move back to the bedroom."

Oliver mumbled something vaguely assenting under his breath, while Cedric continued to tug at his hair.

"Fine, good," said Cedric, his pleading eyes on Charlie. "Just finish the bloody story."

*

Charlie smoothed his wet hair back with both hands and reached to turn the shower off, then grabbed a towel from the bar.

"Don't you dare wrap that around your waist," warned Hermione, watching him closely as he stepped out of the shower, the towel still tight in his fist. He raised a brow at her and wet his lips. She backed up against the wall, her eyes moving over his body as he stepped towards her. She reached out and planted her palm over his chest, stopping him an arm's length away. "My conditions," she breathed. "Are we agreed?"

He hesitated, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly and her reddened lips part. "What if you find you want more than just one night?" he murmured.

"I have no doubt that I will," she replied breathlessly without even stopping to think about the answer. But at that, she closed her eyes and let her hand drop from his body. "But the fact remains that you probably _can't_ read, and I don't want to move to Romania, and even though he is being a complete tit at the moment, I do still love your stupid brother somewhat, and so, you get one night, because that is the only way I will ever get you out of my head, isn't it?" She opened her eyes again, all of those emotions naked on her face, and Charlie was done for. It was a spectacularly bad idea that could only end with one or both of them getting their hearts broken, but he couldn't turn down this chance.

He closed the distance between them and pinned her against the wall, pressing his wet body against hers and leaning down to capture her mouth. Her hair tickled at his face, making him moan and part his lips as her hands circled around his back and drew him closer. "Hermione," he groaned, biting at her lower lip and letting his fingers trail down her throat and trace the edges of her bra. "Bed," he whispered in her ear. "Clothes off."

He lifted himself off of her with great effort, watching her blush and smile as she hurried out of the bathroom again and into the main cabin, kicking her shoes off and dropping her skirt and tights in record time. She crawled onto the bed and sat up on her elbows, watching him as he advanced on her. "Dragon men," she muttered, a smile playing at her lips. "I was warned about you."

Still dripping wet, Charlie threw the towel to the floor and climbed onto the bed, kissing her fiercely while his right hand bypassed all pretences and slipped inside the cup of her bra. She arched her back at the first sweep of his thumb over her nipple, her lips parting further and her tongue pushing into his mouth. Charlie registered her responsiveness, deciding it wouldn't take long to warm her up. He moved down to kiss her throat and collarbone, pushing her nipple free of the lace and dragging his tongue over it. She arched up again and gasped, and Charlie smiled against her skin. He moved down lower, his lips and tongue gliding over her stomach and hips before moving inside her thighs.

"Charlie," she gasped as her legs fell open. "Oh my God."

He pushed the lace of her pants aside with one thick finger and gently touched her. With a groan, he found his finger immediately covered in moisture as it pressed in further, sliding along her folds. With his free hand, he hauled the lace out of the way and pinned it back against her thigh, and then he moved down and followed his finger with his tongue. She writhed on the bed as he worked, dragging the flat surface of his tongue over her and then circling her clitoris with the tip until she was arching off the bed, flexing her fingers in the sheets and pushing her hips up. She came quickly, clenching around his finger and shuddering against his lips, and as she stilled, gasping, he slid her soaked pants down her thighs and let her kick them off.

Moving back up her body, he coaxed her to sit up, drawing her into his arms and kissing her. She giggled and turned away, wiping her mouth, but he made a show of sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, savouring the taste of her. With his arms around her back, he unhooked her bra and pulled it down her arms. When they were both naked and panting, she reached down and grasped his cock, making him shut his eyes and push down a loud groan.

"Your turn," she murmured, her lips close to his ear as she stroked him. "What do you want?"

Swallowing hard and grabbing her wrist to stop her, he trailed a finger between her legs again, earning another gasp, and then slid the same finger over his cock with a shudder. "Want to fuck you," he whispered, his voice rough.

She nodded, making to lie down on her back again, but he stopped her. With both hands on her small waist, he turned her around, encouraging her to move onto her hands and knees. From the sounds she made in the back of her throat, it was a position she didn't get placed in nearly as much as she would have liked.

"From behind," he added in her ear as she dropped to her elbows, and she moaned his name as his hands slid down. He smoothed them over her hips, arse and thighs, moving between her legs and coaxing her to spread them wider. Kneeling behind her, he grasped the base of his dick and slowly slid it up the inside of one thigh, circling around her and dragging it back down the other. She cried out and shoved her hips back. He did it again.

"Charlie," she sobbed. "Please."

"Please what?" He paused, holding his cock with the tip just brushing her entrance.

She tried to shove back against him again, but he moved back, keeping just outside of her. "God, please," she begged again. "Fuck me."

"I thought the big, bad dragon men only want one thing from you," he said in a low voice over her back. "You sure you want to give it to them?"

"Just you," she gasped. "And yes, _God_. I want it."

She was breathless and gorgeous, and Charlie found he couldn't have teased her for another second even if he'd wanted to. He pushed forward slowly, feeling the wet heat of her pull him in inch by inch until he was fully inside. She pulsed around him, still reeling from her orgasm, and the ripples up his cock nearly made him lose control right then. He withdrew and shoved in again, watching as her fingers scrabbled for leverage against the sheets. She was beautifully responsive, moaning and gasping in ways he never would have imagined of her, and it urged him on.

"Come here," he murmured to her after a few steady thrusts, reaching around her to spread her thighs further apart and sink into her even deeper as he pulled her into his lap. He knelt on the bed and coaxed her back flat against his chest, smoothing his hands over her breasts and stomach while she straddled his lap, her thighs squeezing his from the outside. He was able to plunge deep inside her in this position, and she let her head fall back to his shoulder as he did so, pumping her legs to take in every thrust.

"Oh my God," she whimpered again, and the feel of her loose hair over his chest and shoulder filled his senses with want.

He slammed up into her, feeling his thighs tense and the heat build in his body. He fastened his lips to the side of her neck as his fingers worked over her nipples and down to her thighs, dancing around her opening each time his dick swelled inside her. Her name fell from his lips as he surged forward one last time, the heat racing down his spine as he spilled inside her. He fell still, his legs stiff and his cock jerking in her body as he clung to her back, groaning. His brushed his lips over her shoulder, not willing to move just yet as his dick pulsed gently, letting her body pull the last spasms from him.

She sighed and sagged in his arms, her arse tensing against his thighs, and he felt a trickle of come seep down his leg. His fingers were still tracing lazily around her entrance, sparking new pleasure up his spine with every brush over his cock where it was still lodged inside her. As his come gathered around his softening dick and began to slip out, a filthy idea seized him. He gathered the moisture in his fingers and began to circle it over her folds, closing his eyes when she shivered and gasped against him.

"_Oh_," she moaned, arching her back and pressing her head back against his shoulder. He held her up with one arm still circled around her waist while the other slid his come over her clitoris. "Charlie," she gasped, and the knowledge that she was going to go for this, that Hermione bloody Granger was into _this_, something wicked and dirty and so fucking hot, sent a new thrill through Charlie's body.

"Come on," he whispered in her ear, nibbling at her earlobe and moving his lips down the side of her neck. "Come for me again."

His fingers sped up, drenched in come now as his dick slipped nearly entirely out of her. He moved his fingers through it and coated her with it, wet and filthy, relishing her moans and the way she pressed down onto his hand. He swept over her once more, twice, and then she was clenching around his dick again, sucking in a desperate breath and crying out. She pulsed against his hand where he held his fingers still, absorbing her convulsions and whispering gently in her ear.

When she finally turned into a rag doll in his arms, sated and spent and still moaning faintly, he eased her back down to the bed and whispered a few cleaning spells. Wrapping her in his arms, he kissed her temple and relished the feel of her soft breath on his neck. When he fell asleep, it was to the desperate hope that he would never wake up and discover this had not actually happened.

***

When Charlie stopped talking, he folded his arms over his chest and sat back in the chair, staring at the wall for a moment, still lost in the memory. Or fantasy. With a great sigh and a slow exhalation of breath through his mouth, he finally glanced back over at Oliver and Cedric.

They were staring at him with mouths hanging open. Cedric's collar was undone and his skin flushed from his cheeks down to the bit of chest peeking out through his open robes. Oliver's hair was standing on end with one hand still lodged in it, fingers frozen around stray locks. They both had glassy eyes and reddened lips, and if Charlie wagered a peek, he was willing to bet they were sporting something else at the moment as well.

Charlie cleared his throat, scratching at an eyebrow. "So. Yeah. That's, uh. That's mine."

"I–"

"Yeah."

"That's–"

"_God_. Just–"

"Do you–"

"Okay. Give me a–"

"Christ."

"Loo."

Charlie smirked, his eyes darting between his two companions.

"What?"

"Loo," croaked Cedric again. "I've got to– uh." He swallowed, standing up too quickly and nearly knocking his chair over. "Be right back." He scurried off.

Oliver spared only a second's glance at Charlie before his head whirled around to follow Cedric. "Uh, right," he mumbled to Charlie, jumping to his feet as well. "Me too." He ran off after Cedric, nearly tripping several times and slamming into various partygoers, before Charlie lost sight of them.

Shaking his head, Charlie ambled back to the bar to get them a new round. He tapped his fingers casually against the top of the bar as the bartender made his way over, smirking at him and starting on their refills before Charlie even had to order.

"So, you been listening to that?" asked Charlie.

The bartender shrugged as he popped the cap off a bottle of beer. "Hard not to. You blokes are loud as fuck."

Charlie laughed, taking the beer from him and swallowing a mouthful while the bartender saw to Cedric's wine, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at the empty table.

"You drinking for three now?"

Charlie glanced back and laughed. "Christ. No." He nodded across the room. "They're just in the loo jerking each other off or something." He grinned, thinking back on the story he'd told them. "Amateurs."

"While you remain completely unaffected by talk of them shagging your girl," the bartender said lightly, glancing up at Charlie.

"She's not my girl," he said reflexively, his fingers tightening around the bottle.

The bartender snorted, glancing around the room. "I can see that."

"Fuck." Charlie shook his head. "Walked right into that one."

The bartender grinned.

"All right," said Charlie, placing his elbows on the bar and leaning forward. "So, which one of us is telling the truth, you reckon?"

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "What, not just fantasies?" Charlie nodded, and the bartender let out a low whistle. "That's a dangerous game, mate."

Charlie wiped his mouth with the back of his fingers. "Yeah." He turned to gaze out at the dance floor again, his eyes immediately drawn to Hermione. She was alone for once, having escaped from the gaggle of bridesmaids and well-meaning family members constantly surrounding her before she and Ron finally departed for that bloody honeymoon suite. She was leaning against the back wall, absently fingering the stem of her wineglass. As if sensing his eyes on her, she turned her head towards the bar and gave him a warm smile, colour spreading over her cheeks. He grinned back and raised his bottle a bit, inclining his head. She did the same, raising her glass before laughing and moving back into the crowd.

He turned back to the bar to find the bartender watching him, the drinks for his table ready.

"What? Oh." He rummaged in his pocket for some more coins and dropped them on the bar, where the bartender swept them up and deposited them under his counter.

"See? Not so hard." He gave Charlie a sly smile.

"Yeah, right. Free drinks." Charlie snorted. "You're making a killing off tips alone."

The bartender shrugged, and then he leaned forward to speak low near Charlie's ear. "Think it through," he began. "Those two have both got parts of it that make no sense, for a fantasy. The Scottish bloke? Look, if he was so shattered about playing reserves, he'd not likely build his whole dream girl thing around that, yeah?"

Charlie rubbed at his jaw, considering.

"And the pretty one, well. Come on." The bartender swallowed a laugh. "In the dark where he could barely see her – and both of them probably so pissed she barely remembers? Yeah, that's brilliant." He rolled his eyes.

"So, you think it really happened?"

The bartender shrugged again. "I just work here." He grinned at Charlie, nudging him lightly on the shoulder. "But I do know a shit liar when I see one, Weasley, and you might tip all right with a little push in the right direction, but you've got to work on your tall tales."

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"Bloody perfect, every minute of it, yeah? _She's_ the one begging you for it, has to convince you? Yeah, all right." He laughed. "And what's with the all-star cock, making her come five times?"

Charlie snorted. "Just twice."

"Well, it sounds like you've been watching too much porn, mate. _That's_ a proper fantasy, I'll give you that, but if you were looking for those blokes there to buy into it, you've got to think up something else." He pulled his towel off his shoulder and began wiping the bar down again.

Charlie was quiet for a moment, gathering the drinks. "You got me," he said softly.

The bartender shook his head, still chuckling. "Even with a bird like that–" he glanced up and gave Hermione a long, appreciative look across the room – "the sex can't be that perfect. She'd have married you instead, yeah?" He gave Charlie a pointed look.

"Yeah," he muttered, taking another drink and glancing away. "Except that I can't read, and she wouldn't move to Romania, and she's probably – no, let's see here–" he pretended to think it over – "right, she's _definitely_ in love with my brother."

The bartender inclined his head, giving Charlie a pitying smile before slinging the towel back over his shoulder and moving down the bar to take another order. Charlie began to make his way back to his table.

He plunked the drinks down and sprawled in the chair, legs out and arms hooked over Oliver and Cedric's empty chairs on either side of him. While he waited for them to return, he let his head fall back and stared up at the strobe lighting flitting across the ceiling.

 

-fin-


End file.
